Howard arose early, shaken awake by the remembrance
of Jacintha's suicide attempt. His hangover
was severe. Tired yet restless he decided to
attend the nine o'clock physics lecture. He
trudged down the Chillington Road towards the
university, occasionally sliding on the winter
ice and cursing when his bad leg jarred. Huddled
groups of students drifted in the same direction,
chatting merrily as if to defy the cold. Howard
envied them for being able to laugh. The stark,
leafless trees that adorned the Chillington
Road seemed more in tune with his mood than
they.
The lecture theatre was full even though the
lecture was not due to start for ten minutes.
The shocking news about Jacintha had evidently
circulated with astonishing rapidity. Howard
mused with bitterness that nothing motivates
like bad news. The students chatted earnestly,
glancing furtively at him and keeping a respectful
distance from him. He supposed that maybe his
bruised face repelled them but he felt it more
likely they
blamed him for what she did
to herself. In return he felt contempt for them.
How dare they charge him! They had never cared.
He overheard snippets of fevered speculations
on who had put the wounding photograph on the
lecture theatre blackboard. Howard suspected
Steve so he started when his enemy snaked into
the room, face shadowed by his baseball cap.
Howard glared at this being who looked so pleased
with himself but would not turn his way.
Steve was followed by the walking stick-wielding,
long-bearded lecturer known to his subjects
as Captain Caveman. The students shuffled behind
the lecture theatre desks. The diminutive lecturer
tapped his cane on the ground, dispelling the
remnants of the tumult. In the church-like silence,
all peered at the extraordinary man in the brown
suit and a beard that spanned the best of his
mere five feet of height.
'I see from the lack of triviality in the air
that you have already learned the sad news concerning
your colleague, young Jacintha,' said lecturer
gravely.
From the back of the lecture theatre Howard
frowned when, from three rows towards the front,
Steve turned to face him. Steve grinned, winked
and whispered one word, just audibly enough
for Howard to detect it.
'
Whore!'
Howard's sense of reality disintegrated. Neither
space nor time nor light, sound, smell nor touch
held any meaning. Steve had caused
Jacintha's suicide attempt and still he called her
a whore?
Whore? It was final proof where
none were needed of Steve's guilt. Her misery
was all Steve's fault. Like a dirty thief Steve
had broken her spirit and abducted her dignity.
Steve had wrecked her sanity to spite him. Her
honour must be restored. She would be avenged.
'Destined for the spirit of
death!' Howard
screamed.
Regardless of all but his rage he leapt over
three tiers of benches. Like a wave, startled
students parted, creating space as he clambered
over the desks. Notes and pens scattered beneath
his feet. He reached Steve's bench. Open-mouthed
and snarling, Steve raised his fists. Howard
jumped to the floor besides him and hurled himself
at him. The silence was usurped by excited murmurs
amongst the students. The murmurs burgeoned
into howls and bellows as the combatants wrestled
and fell to the floor side by side in the gap
between the benches. Howard tried to punch but
Steve clutched him constrictively. Pulling back
he loosened Steve's grip and dug a fist into
his side. Steve pushed against Howard's chin,
hitting his head against the bench. Howard blinked,
stunned and disorientated. He kicked and writhed
blindly as he felt hands grip him harshly. Despite
his struggle he was pulled away. Red faced,
Steve was shouting. He was helped to his feet.
Someone put his baseball cap over his dishevelled
hair. A concerned-looking female student brushed
dust from his tracksuit.
'Hey man, I'm gonna get you sent down on GBH,
man, real bad, you psycho fuck!'
Howard found no reply. He glared at his opponent
with eyes like hot coals. Only gradually did
he become aware that blood was dripping to the
ground. Dull pain pulsated between his eyes.
The lecturer stared with disapproval at him.
'In more disciplined days fighting would be
dealt with by a cat o' nine tails. In lieu of
that, I'm afraid that your continuance on this
course must be carefully considered. Violence
has no place in universities or anywhere for
that matter.'
Howard examined his surroundings with revved
suspicion, apparently aware that all eyes were
upon him and all eyes were accusing. He returned
the looks with an acidic glower. Trembling
with enmity and defiance he theatrically limped
from the room. Looking back he saw Steve contort
his mouth into a bitter smile. Howard slammed
the door behind him. The reverberations faded.
Blood streamed from his nose and soaked into
his jacket. The fury that engulfed his mind
excluded even the pain he knew was there. But
when the adrenaline finally seeped from his
bloodstream he felt concussed and nauseous.
He thought of Jacintha and what horrible punishments
he would inflict on Steve if he ever set eyes
upon him again.
***
*****
***
Gallie rushed into the lounge looking seductive
in a red dress and peered expectantly upon the
housemates gathered in the lounge. Howard gazed
upon her with a rekindled wantonness.
'Well aren't you going to complement me?' she
pleaded flirtatiously.
'You make fantastic tea,' said Greg.
'No! I mean do think I look sexy in my new dress?'
'Don't be so rude, Greg!' interjected Karen.
'Actually I think it's a lovely dress and it
really suits! Which is terrific really, because
Gallie doesn't look good in many.'
'I
don't?' murmured Gallie pathetically.
'Hey Karen, you
always look good - when
you pull your belly in!' enthused Greg.
'Actually I don't need to pull it in you cheeky
bastard! It's flat enough as it
is.'
'You put too many "
L's" in
that word'
'What word?'
'
Flat!'
'I'm not
fat! Not like
you, Greg
you great oaf!
Fucking Moron!'
Greg laughed and slapped his belly like bongos,
beating out a brisk and urgent rhythm.
Howard felt overwhelmed with affection for Gallie.
An idea sparked in his mind and he took the
phone into the hall and rang Granny Grail. Her
voice chilled his blood, but she agreed to his
nervous request - for a price. Excitedly he
slammed down the receiver.
As night set in, the housemates gathered at
a bus stop on the Chillington Road and deep
within a creaking red double-decker bus they
were transported into the thriving centre of
the city of Redater. Their port of call was
a posey establishment calling itself Bates Wine
Bar. Garish green strip lights irradiated the
spaceship-like exterior of the building with
an extraterrestrial-like glow. Entering, the
housemates gathered around a pale green plastic
table. Howard fought his way to the bar and
waited impatiently for a bowtied barman to fill
various glasses with his prescribed liquors.
Next to him a balding man seemed to lament at
his reflection in the mirror behind the bar.
Loose-strapped women squeezed their springy
embonpoints together in fertile mirth. Nearby
some thin girls picked and pinched the tips
of their fingers as they chattered. A dance
remix of
Blue Monday thudded over the
PA system. Haywire cheese plants reached upwards
towards menacing air-conditioning vent covers
that hung from the ceiling. A low-cut-dressed
girl waddled past him. After the tantalising
glimpse of her plentiful cleavage he watched
her as she walked to the far side of the bar.
The girls' drinks came adorned with plasticky
cocktail paraphernalia. As it was "
Specials
Night" he and Greg drank double vodkas,
which were being sold for the price of singles.
Greg nudged Howard to direct his attention to
two women who had sidled into the vicinity.
One was svelte and classically sculptured. Her
friend was less spectacular but seemed more
approachable.
'Huh! It's so like obvious you two think she's
really beautiful,' Karen scoffed. 'I think that
she's so ordinary actually. And she's so
average!'
'Beauty
is ordinary and average. Ordinary
and average features are the distinction of
the beauty,' said Howard.
'That's what I tell all the ordinary and average
birds when I'm desperate,' said Greg.
'Do you think
I'm beautiful?' asked Gallie.
'Yes,
I certainly do,' volunteered Howard
sincerely.
'So you think
I'm ordinary and average?'
Howard realised that if he said
"no"
then, by his own definition he was saying that
she wasn't beautiful. But if he said
"yes"
then he was implying that she was ordinary and
average, a description Gallie obviously didn't
find flattering. To Howard Gallie and all women
were paradoxical.
'Yes
and no,' said Howard in the forlorn
hope that this cop-out of an answer would buy
him the best of both worlds.
'
Yes I
am ordinary and average
and
no I am
not beautiful!' sighed
Gallie.
'That's about right,' said Greg. He pulled a
funny face.
Karen offered Gallie a cigarette, which was
seized and lit in angst. Howard worried that
his efforts to make Gallie happy were backfiring.
He hastily exchanged the topic of conversation.
'Steve will rot in Hell for what he did to Jacintha
and I'm going to send him there early!'
Karen rose to her feet.
'You
bastard!' she cried with volcanic
vitriol. She pointed her finger Howard. 'I mean,
it's a bit
much quite frankly! And now,
because of
you, poor Stevie's actually
getting the
blame for some tart's overdose?
Fucking hell! Like, what's he ever done to
you?'
'What do you
mean, what's Steve ever
done to me?' protested Howard. 'He only went
and took that
photograph and put it on
the board and drove Jacintha to attempt bloody
suicide!'
'You can't
prove it was Steve!' declared
Karen defiantly.
'What? Greg, can you believe this?' Howard appealed
desperately.
Greg stared inertly down at the tabletop. He
showed no sign of wishing to get involved in
the spat. In fact he seemed uneasy, as if the
quarrel was disturbing him. Howard had never
seen Greg show one iota of sensitivity before.
What was the matter with him? Greg usually leapt
at the chance to correct Karen when she aired
her preposterous claims. He wondered if Greg
was indulging a newfound sympathy for Steve.
Why was everybody taking Steve's side? Howard
surmised that Greg was definitely not himself.
'Karen, is smack that's making you
soft?
Of course it was Steve!' insisted Howard.
'It
couldn't have been anybody else!
Greg, tell Karen that she is doing a deep injustice
to Jacintha!' He paused, wondering if he sounded
like his mother beseeching his father to "
talk
some sense into him".
Greg did not look up from the table. His face
was hardened. Everyone looked quizzically at
him but nobody said anything. Howard and Karen
scowled. Gallie looked on with eyes appealing
for a more amicable approach to the crisis.
Greg suddenly brightened. His entire demeanour
became light-hearted and trivial.
'Howie, never mind all that heavy shit, come
and give me some backup!' He nodded at the beautiful
woman and her approachable friend.
'Not yet, Greg, I wish to survey all the possibilities
first, before making my move.'
'Good plan but remember, it's no good widening
the goal if you don't shoot! OK, here is the
plan of attack. I go in first and break the
ice. Then you pitch up and feed her friend some
bullshit about us being male strippers or something.
Make her laugh and you'll be parting her beef
curtains in next to no time!' He rose from his
chair and fearlessly strode over to the women.
'Greg's such a male chauvinist
pig,'
bewailed Karen.
'Well Howie, aren't you going to follow?' said
Gallie.
'Yeah, in a bit.'
But he remained at the table and chewed a fingernail.
He felt glum and could not summon the drive
to snap out of it. Karen's sulking affected
and intensified his depression whilst Greg's
spirited enterprise drummed feelings of inadequacy
into him. Gallie chatted away with heroic enthusiasm
in an obvious attempt to bring cheer to the
table. Over the din of the music Greg could
be heard laughing rumbustiously and the women
with whom he was making his acquaintance joined
in the laughter with abandon. Their merriment
rose like the peeling of bells above the hubbub
of traffic. Howard wished he hadn't delayed.
It was too late now. He dared not interfere
with Greg's enterprise. He downed his vodka
and cursed the Universe and held it - or any
god that forged it - fully accountable for his
own stinking failures.
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